


don't wanna wait to the boiling point

by dude_dude_dude



Category: South Park RPF
Genre: Barebacking, Blow Jobs, First Time, M/M, Masturbation, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:01:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23545792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dude_dude_dude/pseuds/dude_dude_dude
Summary: Their stolen moments of stupidity always occurred in places they shouldn’t. Movie theatres. Bar toilets. The backseat of Matt’s pickup in the studio’s parking lot. And that’s all they were: rushed, meaningless nothings—a way of releasing tension. Moving things to that more comfortable place that was inevitably Trey’s bed took things to a different level.
Relationships: Trey Parker/Matt Stone
Comments: 16
Kudos: 25





	don't wanna wait to the boiling point

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Dosage by Unlike Pluto.

Surprisingly, making the decision to buy a dildo turned out to be the easy part. The hardest parts were the subsequent decisions. Should he buy it online or in person, as you could never really envision the true dimensions of online purchases? Should he go for something natural-looking or more outrageous, complete with all the bells and whistles? And just where the hell was he going to hide the thing? 

Trey never did things by halves. Los Angeles didn’t either when it came to sex shops. He had his pick of places, though he didn’t fancy getting papped going into one near the seedier end of the scale. A quick Google told him the best place was Pleasure Island on Santa Monica Boulevard. A thirty-minute drive away. Almost too tempting.

Pleasure Island had everything he’d imagined and more he hadn’t. They displayed their toy collection atop long glass aisles that reflected an impressive collection of neon lights suspended above. They gave the whole interior a pinkish glow that complimented the hardcore music pumping through the speakers. It was like being at a polished rave. Some of the dildos didn’t even look like sex toys. They were more like artworks. Solid glass. Chromatic metal. Even different colours and rarities of quartz. These were some seriously pampered vaginas and assholes.

Something he noticed almost immediately, faced with more phallic objects than he’d ever seen in one place before, was that all the realistic dicks were cut. Made sense from a manufacturing standpoint, he supposed, though that didn’t make him feel any less self-conscious. Perhaps chicks and gay guys just preferred cut dicks. They did look neater. Matt’s did.

Some of them had amazing attention to detail: sculpted veins on the shaft, functional balls—if the function was shooting water. Some looked so real it bordered on creepy. He decided pretty quickly that it’d be better to avoid the hyper realistic ones. It felt too gay otherwise. For basic self-experimentation, something that looked like an actual toy rather than a severed dick had to be the better choice. 

The cashier complimented him on his selection, which seemed kind of invasive, but they probably said that to anyone willing to part with over four-hundred dollars on something intended to be stuck up your ass. 

He’d chosen a stainless-steel model, sleek and shiny with a slight curve that, according to the packaging, was perfect for hitting the ‘P-spot’. It weighed a lot, and it looked more like something you’d keep in your toolbox than hide at the back of your sock drawer, which was one of the draws. One end of the hefty handful was ridged to make gripping it easier. The other was bulbous, and so polished you could see your face in it. 

Before Trey paid, the cashier recommended an accompanying lubricant. Their range had hilariously macho names like Elbow Grease, Gun Oil, and Fuck Water. Trey opted for Fuck Water because it sounded the funniest and swiped his credit card through the reader.

*

“I’m an adult man,” Matt yelled, mashing the remote’s buttons. “I should be able to connect a DVD player to a fucking television!” 

The television in question was Trey’s home cinema. While Matt struggled, Trey pondered at what point a huge TV could officially call itself a cinema. Was there a minimum number of inches that qualified the screen’s size, or was it more about the number of seats crammed in front of it? 

“Fucking finally.” Matt placed the remote carefully on the next seat along so as not to disrupt any of the settings. 

The Warner Brothers shield made its fanfare in the screen’s centre. As Trey dimmed the lights with his seat’s arm controls, it became the only illumination in the dark room. Outside, on the other side of blackout curtains, the L.A. sun still shone. Trey sighed and leant his head against Matt’s shoulder, content to finally be in his favourite hideaway. The first half of _South Park_ ’s ninth season was finally done. They were free to relax for a few months. Until the next half needed writing, but he didn’t want to think about that right now. 

“What snacks you bring?” Trey asked over the opening credits of _Million Dollar Baby_. It sounded like a shit movie, but they had to keep on top of pop culture if they were even pretending to stay relevant anymore.

“Didn’t realise it was my job to bring snacks.”

Trey prodded him in the thigh. It was always Matt’s job to bring snacks. He wouldn’t act like he believed his bullshit. “Seriously. What’d you bring?”

Matt slid a hand into the pocket of his jacket and withdrew what looked like trail mix. 

“For fuck sake. What kind of rabbit food bullshit is this?” 

“You’re welcome,” Matt said, dropping the packet into Trey’s lap. “Now shut the fuck up and watch the movie.”

*

They lost interest about forty-five minutes in. Matt had taken to bouncing his leg and tapping his knees, and Trey was actually interested in getting the damn trail mix open. After struggling noisily with the bag, Matt reached over and opened it for him.

“Hey?” Matt whispered. Whispering was pointless because there was no one else here. Even the cleaners weren’t scheduled this week. He always whispered though, as if someone would angrily shush him and tell him to keep it down if he didn’t—Trey, probably. “Remember when we saw _Armageddon_?”

Oh, Trey remembered. Matt had gotten so bored he’d knelt between Trey’s legs and sucked him off in the back row. A couple a few rows in front were the closest people, and Trey had managed not to attract their attention by stuffing half his fist in his mouth, even as he came down Matt’s throat and knocked his popcorn into the aisle. Trey didn’t remember how the movie ended, but that was probably because it was shit and not Matt’s fault in the slightest.

Why had Matt brought that up anyway? Weirdo. 

Trey sniggered. “If you wanna suck my cock, man, all you gotta do is ask.” He gestured to his groin with both hands.

Matt nudged him playfully. 

They were so young back then, and both idiots. They still believed they could live rich, fulfilling lives by partying to the point of exhaustion and jacking each other off when they needed to feel something other than high. It had never been more than that: harmless experimentation that went nowhere because neither of them wanted it to or believed it could. A lot had changed since then. They’d grown up for a start.

“Maybe I am,” Matt said, voice close to Trey’s ear as he leant back in his seat.

“Huh?”

“Asking.” 

Trey swallowed. On the screen, some scrawny German chick was getting the shit kicked out of her. If Matt was joking, Trey would be left feeling similarly beaten down. Trying hard to keep his voice steady, he said, “Don’t be an ass.” 

All it took were Matt’s fingers creeping around the edge of his jaw for Trey to accept whatever he was offering. The kiss was as natural as it ever had been, despite the years separating this one from the last, and Matt’s tongue was just as enthusiastic. Trey opened his mouth in invitation, almost climbing over the armrest to get closer to Matt and his precious attention. 

Matt’s fingers were teasing Trey’s zipper down, hand sliding through the opening. “Can I?” he asked, already holding Trey’s dick through his boxers. Trey, of course, was already embarrassingly hard. 

“Do you, uh, wanna go somewhere a little more comfortable?” Trey asked.

Matt pulled back, gaze turning inward as he considered it. Their stolen moments of stupidity always occurred in places they shouldn’t. Movie theatres. Bar toilets. The backseat of Matt’s pickup in the studio’s parking lot. And that’s all they were: rushed, meaningless nothings—a way of releasing tension. Moving things to that more comfortable place that was inevitably Trey’s bed took things to a different level. 

“I’m getting old,” Trey said, trying to keep the tremor from his voice. “I’d kinda like to pass out when we’re done.” 

“Yeah. Okay.” Matt slid his hand out of Trey’s fly and nodded softly, looking as nervous as Trey felt. “Lead the way.”

*

They’d been doing it for a while now. 

Matt visited under the pretence of something innocent and, every time, it ended with Trey on his back getting his balls sucked dry. He didn’t reciprocate, even though he’d tried. Matt always refused it. Turned out he got off enough from this arrangement, one they never spoke of after Trey shot his load down the back of Matt’s throat, left wondering if the guy had a gag reflex. Neither of them wanted to cross the line into asking what the hell they thought they were doing. Neither of them wanted to consider if there was ever a line to begin with. 

This time, their innocent-on-the-surface activity was making tacos. Matt was the foodie, so he’d bought all the ingredients ahead of time from some pretentious farmer’s market that packaged their produce in wicker boxes. 

Trey sat at the massive floating table in the middle of the kitchen watching Matt fry the ground beef. He’d offered to slice the bell peppers and grate the cheese, but Matt wanted that responsibility too. Trey’s job, apparently, was sitting there and looking pretty. 

Reaching into the fridge, Matt knocked over one of Trey’s open cans of Dr Pepper. Before he could catch it, it rolled off the shelf and landed on his feet, covering his socks in brown, sugary foam. 

“Ugh.” He stepped back and tossed the spatula he’d been holding onto the counter. “Take over.”

Matt’s soggy socks left a sticky trail before he removed them and dropped them straight into the trash on his way out. Trey stirred the meat and kicked the fridge door closed, and when Matt didn’t come back immediately, wiped up the soda too.

“Borrowed some socks,” Matt said, returning with black-clad feet as opposed to spoiled white. “What the hell’s that silver thing in your drawer?”

Trey thought his organs were about to drop out his asshole. “Uh . . .” Staring at the meat, he tried to think of something he could say about it that might steer the conversation in a different direction. Why the fuck wasn’t it burning!

Matt took the spatula from his hand. “It looks like a weapon.”

There had to be something he could say besides the truth. “Nah. The only weapon I have’s in my walk-in closet.” He scratched the back of his neck.

“Good to know.” 

It could’ve ended there, but Trey had a feeling Matt wasn’t going to let this go until he got an answer. Why was he such a bad liar? “That was a dildo.” 

Matt laughed incredulously. “What kind of freaky chick’d want a hunk of metal in . . .” He raised his hands in surrender, flicking grease off the end of the spatula. “You know what? Forget I asked!” 

*

Happily lethargic from the amount of overstuffed tacos he’d devoured, Trey was more than happy to lie back on his bed beneath Matt’s exploratory tongue. 

They kissed a lot more than they used to. Trey had pondered what that meant exactly, if it meant anything at all, and concluded it was because they appreciated it more now. Back then, all that mattered was having the most fun, getting the highest they could without dying, and coming so hard they almost blacked out. As Matt stroked Trey’s waist, they both sighed in relaxation, maturity making them respect the little things more.

“I was thinking about this all day,” Matt breathed, thumb teasing Trey’s full belly, just above the waist of his Levi’s. 

“You were supposed to be working,” Trey teased. The post-series wrap-up was Matt’s responsibility. It was amazing how much time it took to get merchandise designs signed-off on, and Trey had no patience for all the contracts and calls. 

“Yeah, well,” Matt said, trailing off. He popped the button of Trey’s fly and kissed his neck below his ear. “This is nicer than working.” 

Trey swallowed thickly, pushing back into the pillow as Matt pulled his dick out into the cool air and started working it with a slow fist. “Sure is.” 

Matt mouthed his way down Trey’s front, biting the peak of his nipple through his t-shirt on the journey. His destination was the same as always: Trey’s dick. But Trey didn’t want that yet. The best part about getting sucked off by Matt was the accompanying attention. Nobody knew how to dish it out like Matt, and Trey ate it up as greedily as he’d demolished those tacos. He dragged Matt’s face level to his by his hair.

“Someone’s needy,” Matt said, tilting his head to lick the circumference of Trey’s lips. His erection prodded Trey in the stomach as he stretched out on top of him. “What d’you want, huh?”

The answer slipped out in a breath: “You.” Trey’s cheeks burned at how lame that sounded. It was true; that didn’t make it any less lame, though. 

Not caring about Trey’s apparent lameness, Matt slid a hand up under his t-shirt while they kissed and circled his nipple with his thumb. Trey whined and arched up, and when Matt stroked his chest hair and tugged it gently, he panted against his lips, basking in the attention. Being the object of Matt’s focus was a feeling he could exist on. 

“Tell me what you want,” Matt said, asking the same question a different way.

Trey didn’t know. The only outcome his body yearned for was more of Matt. Knowing they’d have to go back to pretending this didn’t happen every week or so once this was over made him want to take a risk. It could mess everything up, ruin everything they had. Then again, it might not. 

“How would you feel about . . .” He clammed up, whatever self-preservational instincts he had left forcing his mouth closed. 

Kissing his chin, Matt mumbled, “. . . About?”

It was now or never. Time to be brave. “Getting that ‘weapon’ outta my drawer?”

Matt froze. “You mean the dildo?” The word sounded foreign in his mouth when it wasn’t said as a joke.

“Yeah. If that’s not . . . you know—” he shrugged “—too gay.” 

Matt laughed. It was just a breath, but it broke the tension. “I don’t really know what you’re supposed to do with it.” 

“There’s not much to it,” Trey said flatly. What else would you do with it besides the obvious? “I can do it myself, if you want?” 

“No, no.” Matt sounded like he didn’t want to dismiss the possibility of a challenge. “I can do it. I just . . .” He swallowed and glanced towards the chest of drawers. “It looked so, intimidating. I don’t wanna hurt you.” 

“You won’t.” 

It was the last chance for either of them to chicken out. Matt hovered, hand up Trey’s shirt, giving no sign of how he felt about this abrupt change of pace. Just as Trey was about to give him an out and say it was all a stupid idea, Matt pushed himself up off the bed. Decision made. Crisis averted.

Trey watched, shoulders tensed, as Matt slid open the drawer with his back to him. He managed to unwind himself enough to grab the Fuck Water from the nightstand before Matt returned, wide-eyed and uncharacteristically nervous. 

“It’s cold,” Matt said, lying beside him. 

“Wanna turn down the A/C?” 

“I mean this.” He pressed the steel against Trey’s bare forearm, making him jolt in surprise. That was always exciting about this toy: the temperature difference’s additional sensation; one Trey liked a lot. 

“It’ll warm up.” 

Staring at the lube in Trey’s hand, Matt asked, “How’re we doing this?” He still seemed edgy, and who could really blame him?

Trey didn’t want to push him too far or too fast. Cheeks burning with the knowledge of what he was about to suggest, he gathered his courage. “Wanna watch?”

Matt nodded, lips pursed, yet clearly excited about the idea.

Shucking off his jeans and boxers, Trey clenched his jaw and stared up at Matt’s determined expression. He’d propped himself on one arm, gaze fixed on Trey’s dick laying against his hipbone, a hard, pink protrusion from a nest of dark curls. As Trey took the toy from him, Matt kept watching; a telling flush crept up from beneath his collar.

Trey had done this before, many times. Never with an audience though. There wouldn’t be much to see from Matt’s vantage point, but he still felt nervous about lubing-up the toy, spreading his thighs and reaching awkwardly between them while Matt was staring. He pawed Matt’s chest with his free hand, pulling his t-shirt so he’d lean down and kiss some more courage into him.

“Sorry,” Matt said in a breath, realising he was supposed to be doing something besides staring. He nosed Trey’s temple and kissed his cheekbone, head tilted so he could keep an eye on what Trey’s hands were doing. “That’s . . . super distracting.”

Rubbing the toy’s slick, bulkier end against his asshole, Trey sucked in a breath. “In a good way, right?” 

“Yeah,” Matt gulped. “Can I . . .?” He reached down and placed his hand over the back of Trey’s, not appearing to want to take over but feel what was going on down there. 

Trey turned into him and drew a deep breath. As he pushed the tip inside, he hissed into Matt’s shoulder and breathed hard through his nose. This was always the toughest part. 

Matt was positively panting against the side of his head, still gently holding Trey’s knuckles. “What’s it feel like?” he asked, barely loud enough to hear.

“It’s getting there.” He twisted the toy a few degrees, working the lubricant in as his body adjusted to the intrusion. Matt’s hand stayed where it was, feeling and not seeing, getting a blind demonstration of Trey’s most intimate routine. 

Ready, Trey drove the toy deeper. The tip breached those tighter muscles, slipping in easier after that, and the movement made them both gasp. That familiar cold steel began sapping the heat from Trey’s insides. It was such a good part of these first few minutes of fullness. The temperature difference radiated deep in the small of his back, his body warming the metal as the metal cooled his body. He groaned into Matt’s neck and cursed under his breath, feeling how deep that cold went. 

When he could focus on anything besides that fascinating sensation, Matt was gripping his hand. Trey eased the length almost all the way out and, before he could push it back inside, Matt’s fingers crept around the grip. 

“Yeah,” Trey breathed, hand dropping away. 

Matt asked, “How?” He sounded mildly terrified. 

“Slowly.” 

Gently, he pressed it inside. “Like this?” 

Trey’s legs trembled. It was the same sensation as before, only Matt caused it this time, and that made it unbelievably better. His breath caught high in his throat in mild panic, because something that felt this incredible would make him come, fast, and the whole point of this was getting Matt all to himself for longer. Matt kissed his eyebrow and did it again, sliding the toy out almost all the way before driving it back in slowly. 

“Ohfuckinghell,” Trey stammered, a rough groan erupting from his chest as the tip nudged his prostate. It sent that warming cold through him like an electric current, jolting his body as though he’d been plugged into the mains. 

“Can I look?” Matt asked, voice weak.

Nodding before he thought about it, Trey threw his arm over his face in embarrassment as Matt shuffled down the bed and knelt beside his hip. Spread eagled and on the edge of his nerves, Trey could only hope he liked what he saw. 

“Jesus . . .” 

Neither the toy nor Matt budged. Trey clenched his jaw and squeezed his eyes closed into the crook of his elbow. Then, he felt it: Matt’s fingertip edging around where the toy was buried, feeling the stretched, slick muscle with a warm, delicate touch. The contrast was wonderful, and the most intimate, shameless thing he’d ever experienced. His dick was so hard it stood up from his stomach, twitching with an almost painful need. To relieve the ache, he took it in his fist. 

Matt crawled up the bed again, kissing Trey’s jaw urgently as he eased the toy out. It came out with a slick pop, falling onto the sheet. Reaching blindly to put it back in, Trey was winded by Matt’s fingers replacing it, sliding straight into his ass right up to his knuckles, warm and real and _shit_ , they were really doing this, weren’t they?

“God you feel good,” Matt said through gritted teeth, fingering Trey in awkward, excitable jerks. “How do you feel so good?” 

There was nothing Trey could do but lie there and take what he was given. His every muscle had stopped working, leaden and shuddering and refusing to let him do anything but moan unashamedly. Even breathing was difficult, because Matt finger-fucking him felt sublime, and he was there panting in his ear, rutting against his hip, whispering curses like prayers to a god he didn’t believe in. 

“Can I fuck you?” 

“Yeah,” Trey breathed, grabbing Matt’s pants and squeezing them in his fist. “Yeah, yeah please.” He was nodding, tugging him on top of him, desperate and needy as fuck but not giving a shit—he wanted Matt inside him that badly. 

It happened fast. Matt didn’t even bother unbuckling his belt. He stuck his dick through the part of his fly seconds before it sank between Trey’s thighs. 

Then, everything ground to a halt. Matt’s clothed hips dug into Trey’s inner thighs, forcing his legs further apart, his dick filling him in ways the toy never had. His face was buried in Trey’s neck, breaths ragged as he squeezed Trey’s waist so hard it hurt. They were doing this. No, they’d _done_ this. Matt was balls-deep inside him, and they both needed a moment to deal with that and just, breathe. . .

Forehead rolling against Trey’s shoulder, Matt moaned so deep the sound reverberated through his dick, through Trey’s core, and he bucked his hips forward like he’d been possessed. The thud of their bodies meeting punctuated Trey’s whimper, which continued even as Matt slid out and did it again, snapping his hips forward with enough force that Trey had to push against the headboard to stop his whole body sliding up the mattress. 

“Is that . . .?” Matt was panting so hard he couldn’t get the words out. 

“Yeah,” Trey breathed, understanding. He found the strength to curl his fingers under Matt’s belt and cling to him. 

Matt kissed his throat and up under his chin, breathing hard against his skin as he rolled his hips and found an erratic rhythm. It wasn’t the steady, dominant fuck Trey had imagined him capable of. If anything it was curious and a little nervous, like he needed Trey to tell him what felt good and what didn’t while he discovered what felt good for him.

“More,” Trey managed, sliding the lube into Matt’s hand. 

“Sorry.”

Matt took it with a shaky hand, and Trey watched him pull out and rub a handful of it to his dick, and Jesus fucking Christ, that was a nice view. He didn’t have long to appreciate it before Matt was back inside him, hips coming flush as he pushed Trey’s knees back further. Staring down at where they met, Matt’s mouth fell open in shock; his eyes trailed up Trey’s body until their gazes met, stunned and overwhelmed.

Shaking his head in disbelief, Matt raised his eyebrows. “Fuck, man.” 

The weight of Matt’s body held Trey’s legs open as he lowered himself onto his forearms. Gently thrusting, the fresh lube making everything so much easier, he tongued his mouth, panting against his lips. Each slam of his hips sent a sharp, urgent quake of pleasure in its wake, Matt’s dick hammering bliss right up to the roots of Trey’s hair. Trey clung to his shoulders, losing himself to it, unable to process any of it.

It was obvious Matt worked out. You didn’t need to be stretched out beneath him to know that—all you had to do was look at his muscle definition or his schedule with his personal trainer—but being at the mercy of his strength through the relentless power of his hips was the hottest thing ever. 

Trey slid his hands down Matt’s back and grabbed his ass through his pants, feeling his muscles tighten in time with his thrusts. He pulled him in deeper, hungry for more of him, and Matt gasped.

“I— I’m . . .” Matt swallowed hard, pressing his forehead to Trey’s. “Real close.” 

Trey found enough energy to say, “Same,” and before Matt could ask, added, “Do it inside me.” 

Matt nodded, though it was more of a shudder. “’Kay.” 

Grip tightening on Trey’s thigh, Matt pushed him into the bed, driving in deep with all his weight behind it. Trey writhed as Matt’s muscles quivered, his dick jammed against his prostate. 

“Jesus . . .” Matt chewed Trey’s neck as he fucked him with a final burst of energy, a pitchy groan escaping between his teeth. “Oh, fuck!” 

He dug his fingertips into Trey’s skin as everything got wetter. Trey shut his eyes tight, feeling everything, lost in the mesmerising slide of their bodies, the way Matt got heavier, how his legs writhed through his orgasm. 

It was like coming up on real expensive drugs, that rush of sensation dragging your mind out through the top of your skull and leaving you lighter than air. Overcome, Trey’s orgasm pulled him out of himself and into Matt’s steady presence, the pulsing friction between his legs the only thing that existed. The pressure built, built, exploded, then melted away. Somewhere distant, Matt breathed warm encouragement into his ear, and Trey’s throat hurt from moaning.

And, wow. Wow. he hadn’t come that hard since . . . ever. All the times he’d tried to reach that high before had never been a patch on this spontaneous madness.

Matt’s dick slid out, a pleasant ache remaining in its wake as he collapsed beside him. They’d made a mess. Trey felt it on his stomach, soaking his t-shirt, and the stickiness between his legs when he finally closed them made him feel happily used and desperate for a shower. When he had the energy to open his eyes, he saw Matt’s shirt was effectively ruined with dark patches of sweat and a big sticky come stain under his navel. 

Turning on his pillow, Trey studied Matt’s face while everything sank in. Matt looked utterly content. Exhausted, yet peaceful. His hand rested on Trey’s hip, and as they lay there, he stroked his thumb back and forth along the bone. He opened his eyes to find Trey staring, but all he did was smile.

“That was pretty gay, huh?” Trey said, smiling back.

Matt’s smile quickly became a chuckle. “Yeah. Pretty gay.” 

“We okay?” Trey tried to disguise his nerves at asking that, but he needed to know. He’d always been one of those people who could convince themselves their best friend didn’t actually like them if he gave it enough thought. 

“Course we are, idiot.” He looked down at himself, recoiling a little. “My shirt isn’t.”

“You can take your pick of mine.”

“I will when I can move.” 

Good, because Trey didn’t want him to leave yet. Closing the space between them, he leant his head on Matt’s chest. Despite the sweat, he smelled good, like Matt times a thousand. Like sex. And like home. 

“I’ve got pyjamas too,” Trey said. “If you want.” Matt’s hand came to rest at the back of his neck. 

“Yeah, I’m pretty beat,” Matt sighed, breath rustling Trey’s hair. “Though I’ve got a meeting with Viacom in the morning.” Trey suspected it was an excuse until he added, “So I’ll have to leave earlier than you usually get up.” 

“I’ll be up,” Trey mumbled, so comfortable he was struggling to stay awake.

Matt scoffed. “Yeah, okay.” He stroked the back of Trey’s neck, barely moving his fingers, and that definitely wouldn’t help him stay conscious. “They’re trying to get us to trade our merch deal for company stocks. I already told them our contracts are watertight and we like them that way. Eric says I shouldn’t even . . .”

Trey was sure Matt was saying something important, perhaps even something interesting, but the pull of sleep was too hard to resist.


End file.
